


In Plain Sight

by vials



Series: Heretics & Saints [1]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25077352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: When the Darkling's forces attack the Palace, Nikolai finds himself in the one place he never expected to be -- cornered without a plan. Realising he walked right into the Darkling's trap would be bad enough, but worse than that was realising just who set it for him.
Series: Heretics & Saints [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816138
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	In Plain Sight

The night outside was warm and pleasant; the exact kind of night that Nikolai had loved as a child. Nights like these seemed to go on forever, full of endless opportunities for trouble and the promise of another long day spent outdoors on the other side of it, constantly within reach at the strip of deep blue horizon that never quite grew completely dark. Even the air smelled as it did during those long childhood days: warm and thick, carrying the scent of an abundance of flowers and the slight tang of orange from the Palace orchards.

It seemed almost cruel that the night was so wonderful, and Nikolai couldn’t help but think that it was a final reminder, an acknowledgement from the world that things were never going to be the same again. It had already changed the makeup of the night – instead of leaves rustling and insects humming, Nikolai could still hear the muffled screams behind him; still hear them much more sharply, ringing inside his head. It was painful, to keep running away from the noise when everything inside him demanded that he go back, but he had his own part to play. They had always been very clear on the plan – he would only make it worse if he deviated from it now. For once in his life, Nikolai consented to following the rules.

They were outside of the light spilling from the Palace now, heading towards the lake. The lawn was well-kept and free of obstacles, sloping gently towards the water, but they were still making painfully slow progress. The King kept pausing, looking back at the Palace as though he couldn’t quite believe it – and not brief pauses, either. He would frequently stop dead, turning his whole body around to face the building slowly receding behind them, his eyes fixed upon it even though there was nothing to be seen from this distance. Time and time again, Nikolai had to pause and raise his voice well above the level he would like given the current circumstances, trying to snap his father out of it.

The Queen was faring even worse. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Nikolai was practically carrying her, she would still be crouched over the body of her eldest son. She was certainly still crying, though thankfully she did such a thing silently. Her gown was soaked with blood, her hands and arms streaked with it, and every so often she would raise them in front of her and stare at them with eyes so wide Nikolai could see the whites shining all the way around her irises. He could barely stand to look at her. Vasily may have been a brute, but Nikolai’s mother had loved him and Nikolai loved her. Her pain was almost more than he could handle.

“Not much further now,” he murmured to her. “Come on, Mother. Soon you’ll be able to sit and then you can grieve. Right now, we have to keep going.”

“His _arm_ ,” the Queen muttered, and Nikolai still didn’t know if she was talking to him or simply just talking. “His precious arm. Oh, I’d wrap him in his shawl when he was a baby and I’d be able to see that arm waving at me. So tiny, it was. The thickness of two of my fingers. You’d never seen anything so precious.”

“I know, Mother,” Nikolai said, trying to force back the surge of helplessness, the worry that his mother might have gone totally mad. “Come, now.”

They made it another few steps before Nikolai had to turn and call his father’s attention back to them; admittedly he did so with none of the softness he used when addressing his mother. If the King was bothered by it he didn’t seem to care – he simply shook himself out of it and they continued on their way again, stopping and starting until Nikolai was sure that was it – they’d squandered their chances and now they were all as good as dead. He could barely believe it when they reached the water’s edge and nobody had caught up to them yet; part of him was sure it was a trick, that they were being watched. Such thoughts did no good, and with difficulty he shook them away.

The slope hid most of the Palace from view, and it had the unfortunate effect of rousing some of the King’s senses. Nikolai could feel it in the way he was bristling, and he was fully prepared to find his father increasingly uncooperative. It didn’t take long for him to be proven right in his assumptions.

“Where are we going, anyway?” the King demanded. “Don’t you think we should be up there?”

“Absolutely not,” Nikolai snapped. “What, would you like Mother to grab a sword to go with her gown?”

“Of course not,” the King said, as though he thought Nikolai might actually be serious. “Certainly it’s no place for a lady, but what are _we_ doing out here?”

“ _I_ am getting the King and Queen of Ravka to safety, as the Palace is currently overrun by enemy forces,” Nikolai said. “That _is_ usual protocol for such things, Father. Doubly so when the enemy forces can’t be killed by any conventional means. We would only be liabilities there.”

“We can’t just _run away_ ,” the King spluttered. “How could—”

Nikolai had had enough. In the past he had thought he’d _had enough_ before, but that was nothing compared to _this_. Never before had he felt such frustration, such utter _contempt_ for this man. All pretences at being orderly or diplomatic had thoroughly abandoned him, and it was all he could do to keep his voice below shouting.

“We absolutely _can_ just run away,” he hissed. “Now is _not_ the time to start pretending you have a lick of bravery, _Father_. For as long as I can remember you’ve been waging wars and sending countless soldiers out to die for nothing, all while you sat on your arse and threw parties and held feasts and didn’t think a damn moment about what was going on out there. You haven’t seen a second of war in your life; I doubt you would know what to do with a sword even if it _was_ useful against those creatures. You’re saying this because you think that’s what you ought to say, but neither me nor Mother are fooled. _Certainly_ not me. If you had even an ounce of common sense in that thick head of yours you would realise that this is the most tactical thing to do, because we are _useless_ against those creatures and also it’s our sorry luck that your _idiotic_ self is the King of Ravka, so unfortunately you’re entitled to a nice cushy ride out of the fucking danger zone.”

It was probably the most he had said to his father in one go for several years. It seemed to take the King several moments to chew over everything that Nikolai had said and then process its meaning; he had never been quick to follow Nikolai’s scathing remarks, but his recent ill health had ensured that he was now slower than ever. By the time he had realised he was supposed to be outraged, Nikolai had shepherded them along a fair distance, and he was no longer in any mood to hear any of his father’s protests.

“Shut up,” he said, cutting him off. “I’ve had this planned for months and this is what we’re doing. We are going to get out of here – I have several safe places I can bring you to. Then I’m afraid you’re going to have to accept that your country has descended into civil war and think about what you’re going to do about it, or if that’s too difficult for you, at least let me think about what to do and then you can just say you thought of it.”

“Oh, _please_ don’t fight,” the Queen moaned. “I can’t stand it… always the two of you fighting, or Kolya and Vasya… I just can’t stand it.”

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Nikolai said gently. “There’s just no time for this today. You both need to trust me.”

“ _Trust_ you,” the King muttered. “You’ve been nothing but a headache from the moment you were born.”

“The feeling is utterly mutual,” Nikolai said.

The pathway rounded a corner sharply to the right, towards the water. Bushes and trees grew tall here; the water was invisible from where they were standing, and Nikolai knew that just the other side of those leaves lay their ticket out of there. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to relax. It was more than just common sense – he never let himself relax until a plan was over and had been proven successful, as a rule – but rather something else, something deep and heavy and unpleasant that he felt in his gut. It wasn’t just sensible caution, he realised. It wasn’t a case of getting too relaxed, assuming that safety was assured. It was something far worse.

It wasn’t the sense that something could _still_ go wrong – it was the sense that something _was_ wrong.

“Wait here,” he told his parents quietly. “Press yourselves right up against the plants. Make sure you’re hidden. I’ll be two seconds.”

The shadows here were deeper; his parents could barely be seen as they huddled just off the trail, watching as Nikolai edged around the slight curve. He heard nothing, and step by careful step he came around the corner, finally facing where the boat should have been.

Some of it was still there, at least. Most of it was sunk below the glassy surface of the lake, but parts of it were sticking up here and there. As he stepped closer Nikolai finally caught the scent of burning, and the hull seemed blackened under the waves. Of the people he had left stationed there, he could see no sign, unless he counted the thick, glossy black liquid that seemed prominent on some of the shore’s stones, and on what was visible of the deck above the water.

“Saints,” he muttered, and then allowed himself a few examples of something worse, under his breath and with much feeling – the kind of thing, he thought, that would even make a soldier of the First Army blush.

He stood for a moment, experiencing in full clarity the unpleasantness of being totally without a plan, and then he shook his head and turned back. He would have to go back to his parents, and then—

It was only a brief glance, shorter than a blink, but Nikolai knew what he had seen. One of the shadow creatures had been almost directly behind him, elongated and stick-like in the darkness; it had waited for him to see it and then it had simply dissolved into the blackness around it, and Nikolai felt his heart climbing into his throat. The Darkling could see through those things, he knew. He could look through their eyes – undoubtedly that had been what this one was doing, and that meant that the Darkling knew precisely where he was. How long did he and his parents have before they were caught up with? Nikolai wondered if this was an immediate threat or just a game; if he had more time, or if he was as good as dead.

He forced himself to move, his eyes scanning the shadows as he slipped through the bushes and onto the trail, heading back around the corner and wondering what he might find. He couldn’t hear anything, which was promising; he kept most of his attention on the shadows around him, waiting to see a flicker of movement, hear a clicking of teeth. It was quiet, and only when it was too late did Nikolai realise it was _too_ quiet – the birds were no longer rustling in the leaves overhead, the frogs were all silent. Even the insects had stopped their sound. It was the hush that fell over a forest when a predator was near; it reminded Nikolai of the Fjerdan borderlands, and how quiet the forest around their camps would become in the moments before the wolf howls would reach them on the wind.

No sooner had he realised it did the world around him seem to take a deep breath, a constant rustle like the sound of dozens of large wings in movement. The air seemed to move, as well, as though something were drawing itself together, and then a piercing scream shattered the stillness and Nikolai was running.

It was only a short distance back to where he had left his parents hidden among the trees, but Nikolai felt as though he had been running for minutes rather than seconds. He was oddly out of breath when he reached the spot, realising that he had been holding it since the world had gone still around him. It was dark here, much darker than it had been, and as Nikolai hurried forward he ran into a blackness so deep it was like being blinded. It seemed to press on his eyes like a weight, not unlike the Fold; he blinked rapidly and opened his eyes as far as they would go, but it made no difference. The air seemed to shift around him and time and time again he was sure that something had rubbed up against him, bumping an arm or sliding against his back; he turned to face it every time, trying to catch a glimpse, but it made no difference and soon Nikolai was suffering from a strange kind of vertigo, no longer knowing which way was which and finding it difficult to trust the ground under his feet when he couldn’t even see it. The screaming had reached an impossible pitch, the kind of scream that cut Nikolai down to the very bones and possessed him with an almost primal terror, but now it had died down and Nikolai could barely hear anything at all – just that constant rustling, and then not even that.

Light reached him again. It was night, but for a moment it seemed almost the brightness of midday for him. Even the darkest of winter nights hadn’t been anything compared to what Nikolai had just been enveloped in; he blinked several times as though afraid the view would dissolve around him again, and then he finally caught his bearings and turned around, eyes frantically scanning the bushes. He did not have to look for long.

The branches where he had left his parents were ripped to shreds, pulled from the trees they had grown from and scattered across the ground as though they were no bigger than toothpicks. The glossy blackness that had covered the deck and the stones also coated the ground here, glistening over the path gravel and visible on branches and leaves high above Nikolai’s head. His father was closest to him, slumped and apparently already dead; his mother was slightly further away but alive, trying to crawl.

“Mother!” Nikolai cried out, surprising himself by how _small_ his voice sounded. “Mother! Oh, Saints. _Mother!_ ”

He reached her, dropped to his knees beside her. She was so bloody he couldn’t tell what was torn fabric and what was torn flesh, and he hesitated for a moment, not wishing to hurt her, before realising it would make no difference. He had seen too many people die. He knew when someone was beyond pain.

“Mother,” he said, softer now, and pulled her into his arms. “It’s alright, Mother.”

“Nikolai,” she said, her voice almost a sigh.

“I’m here,” Nikolai said, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, Mother. Forgive me. I thought—I had a way to get us out. I don’t know how—”

“Shh,” she said, and Nikolai fell obediently quiet. She gave a small smile. “Forgive _me_.”

She had stopped breathing before Nikolai could ask her what for.

“Mother?” Nikolai asked, so bluntly and so thoroughly confused that he sounded almost like a child. “Mother, no. Come on. Mother, you can’t—Mother?”

Even as he continued to struggle in the face of what he already knew, the soldier in him had accepted it. Over the few words he spoke, he heard his voice grow steadier, the blankness of confusion becoming the blankness of acceptance. He found himself falling back into old military habit, gently laying his mother back on the ground, putting her on her back with her arms crossed neatly over her chest – very often the only thing that could be done for soldiers killed in the field, for there was never any time to bury them. If she’d been wearing a hat, Nikolai was sure he would have placed it on her breast.

He stood up, still not entirely sure if he was on the battlefield or not, and that was when he saw that his father’s eyes were open. They were wide and shining with the strange brightness that came directly before death, but they were shockingly alert. Usually such eyes were unfocused, slightly glazed. His were not. Nikolai met the stare and held it, briefly wondering if he was actually seeing it or if his father had died with his eyes open and Nikolai was just mistaking the moonlight for something more, but then the King’s mouth twisted into something that was part snarl and part grimace, and there was no mistaking what he said.

“Out of the two of you, it had to be _you_.”

Nikolai didn’t need to ask him any questions to know what he meant by that. Even if he had tried to ask them, he would have found himself in the same position as he’d been in with his mother – the King had died almost the moment the last word had left his lips, and any questions would have been wasted. Nikolai had no questions, though. He knew beyond all doubt what the King had meant. He had heard what the King hadn’t had the energy to say. It seemed that in his final moments he had become very adept at choosing his words so that they said everything he couldn’t. Nikolai knew that the King would have rather seen Vasily survive over Nikolai; he knew that the King resented him for living and always had done. He knew that the King had died despising the fact that Nikolai was the sole heir, and above all else, Nikolai knew that the Lantsov line, regardless of his survival, was over.

_Forgive me_ , his mother had said. Now Nikolai understood.

He didn’t know how long he stood there for, gazing numbly at the body of the man who wasn’t his father. Strangely he didn’t feel much of anything. He wondered if it was because he was finally excused from having to care about the man, but even when he cast his thoughts back to his mother, he felt nothing. Shock, then. He had been much the same after Dominic had died, and while he felt a flicker of surprise at the fact he had thought of Dominic so easily and with none of the resistance he had trained into his mind, he still didn’t feel anything about Dominic’s death, either. Everything was happening very far away from him, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He supposed he should go back and try and make himself useful, but what good was he against those creatures? The Darkling had left him alive for a reason. No doubt he would come for Nikolai when he was good and ready.

He supposed he should just stay, then. What good was going anywhere else going to do? He looked around for a decent place to sit, and only then did he realise he wasn’t alone. His heart leapt into his throat but only briefly; the feeling faded on its own well before he realised he recognised who he was looking at.

“Alina,” he said, numbly.

She looked almost like a dream, still dressed in her evening clothing – the fine kefta that shimmered slightly in the moonlight, the white of the antler collar vibrant against her throat. He could see only a few superficial pieces of battle evidence on her – her hair was slightly out of place now, and she was still breathing a little too quickly, but aside from that she looked just how she had when they had been sitting at dinner, and it was oddly surreal. He watched as he eyes flickered first to the King and then to the Queen, and he managed a weak laugh that sounded hollow even to his ears.

“There were a few hiccups in the plan,” he said, giving a weak hand gesture. “As you can see.”

“I’m sorry, Nikolai,” Alina said quietly, her eyes going back to his face again. “I really am.”

Nikolai shook his head. “It’s not your fault. I was too slow, I suppose. Though the boat… it was already destroyed when I got here. I don’t know how—I mean, unless the Darkling sent those creatures out to look for anything weird before he attacked, which I suppose would make sense, tactically, and he _has_ commanded an army for a while so he’d probably know that, but—I’m getting off track. What I meant to say was I appreciate it, but it’s not your fault.”

She shook her head and gave a small smile, and it was so unlike any expression he had ever seen from Alina that Nikolai fell silent, staring at her. Something twisted in his gut again, that strange disquiet that he had felt earlier, seconds before he had realised that something was _wrong_. He tried to clear his thoughts, tried to dredge some of his wits out of the heavy numbness that had soaked into his brain, but it was difficult.

“No,” Alina said. “I’m sorry, Nikolai. But it was the only way. You have to understand that. I wouldn’t have done it, if it wasn’t the only way.”

“I… don’t follow,” Nikolai said, even as he was sure he started to.

“He… he’s right,” Alina said, sounding uncertain at first, but seeming to gain confidence and belief as she talked. “The Darkling, I mean. He’s _right_. I didn’t want to believe it, because… well, for obvious reasons. It’s not a pleasant thing to think, is it? And he can be very… heavy-handed with how he goes about it, and that frightened me at first. But he _is_ right. This country doesn’t need people like you or your father. It needs something stronger, and that just wasn’t happening. So many people were dying pointlessly, and Grisha were still barely safe at all – if they did make it to the Second Army they were being sent out to be killed in some stupid war, and you _have_ to understand what a waste that is. This way is a lot better. It’ll save lives, it’ll make everything _better_. I don’t like that so many people have to die to get to that point, but at least people will _stop_ dying. Don’t you get it?”

Nikolai stared at her for a long moment. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally found words, and when he heard himself speak them, they weren’t what he wanted to say anyway.

“He’s not my father,” he said bluntly.

“Oh,” Alina said.

“Shocker, right?”

“I’ll admit I’m not surprised.”

“Suppose you’ll have to just let me go, being no threat and all.”

Alina looked like she was about to laugh, but caught herself at the last moment. The smile she gave him was nevertheless tinged with something that Nikolai liked to think was regret.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Worth a shot,” Nikolai said, with a half-shrug.

Somewhere his brain had finally picked up on the acute danger around him, and it had a sobering effect. His mind began to work again, ticking over everything Alina had said, searching for ways out of the situation. He could see precious little options, but that had never stopped him before. What he needed was time, and he was sure he could get a little more of it if he played his cards right. He looked at Alina, going over everything she had said and trying to reconcile its meaning with the young woman standing in front of him, so radiantly powerful but still seeming so uncertain. She had been genuine in her apology; Nikolai knew that much.

Nikolai sighed. “Villainy doesn’t suit you, Alina.”

“It’s not—” Alina began, before sighing herself. “I had this same conversation with him, you know.”

“It sounds like you’ve been having a lot of conversations with him.”

“I have,” Alina said, sounding perhaps slightly guilty. Certainly not enough to be ashamed. “I can—we can communicate. He showed me things. I kept telling myself I wouldn’t go back to him but I always did. I just felt like there was always something more that he needed to show me, and there _was_. He’s not a bad person, Nikolai.”

Nikolai snorted. “No, he really does seem lovely, now that I think about it.”

“He only wants what’s best for Grisha,” Alina said. “I know about him now, Nikolai. I know who he is, where he came from. I know how he grew up, what that was like for him. I know the real reason he created the Fold – it wasn’t any of that nonsense about being power-hungry, or trying to do this sooner. It was a genuine accident. He was trying to make the world _better_. He was just young and foolish, and so is everyone! We all do stupid things because we’re young and foolish.”

“We sure do,” Nikolai said, looking pointedly at her.

“Don’t,” she said, a strange pleading note to her voice. “I’ve already been through it all. I’ve thought about if this is right, about how I’d feel, about if it’s a betrayal. But you’ll _see_ , Nikolai. It’ll be better after this. Don’t you think that enough people have died?”

“I do,” Nikolai said, serious now. “Saints know I do, Alina. I served in the First Army, same as you. I saw a fair bit more action that you did, though. I had people dying all around me. My own best friend died in my arms, shot like a dog in some anonymous field. I’ve seen what this war can do, and I’ve also heard horror stories about the kinds of things that happen to Grisha. I’m well-versed in all the misery of this world, I assure you. I believe it can and should be changed, and I told you time and time again how I planned to go about that. _You_ have to understand that my way is the only way. It’s not perfect and it’s not a quick fix, but _nothing_ is. Surely you see that.”

“You’re not powerful enough,” Alina said, shaking her head. “People will continue to mess with this country so long as there’s an _otkazat’sya_ on the throne, Nikolai. Surely _you_ see that.”

“And Grisha on the throne will be taken with absolutely no controversy?” Nikolai asked, feeling his patience wear thin. “You can be so dense sometimes, Alina. Listen to me. After your little friend the Darkling pulled that stunt on the Fold, he did some _real_ damage to Grisha relations. You missed all that, because you were off doing Saints know what, but even _I_ heard about it. Ravka almost descended into civil war right there and then. Outposts and Second Army camps were attacked by people angry at Grisha for what happened on the Fold, and a lot of Grisha were killed. Naturally they retaliated, and things got real messy for a while. Only by taking extreme measures were things quelled – I’m talking curfews, instant arrests and imprisonment for anyone caught causing trouble, demotions, exiles, the works. It all died off, but the feelings didn’t. There is still a _lot_ of anti-Grisha sentiment in this country, and if the Darkling waltzes in and seizes the throne, a lot of people are going to have a lot of things to say about it. You will not have loyalty from everyone in this country. I daresay you won’t have loyalty from any _otkazat’sya_. And do you know what that means? That means you’re going to have rebellions. Insurrections. Mutinies. Desertions. Guerrilla warfare. The Darkling might have Fjerda and Shu Han behaving themselves for fear of the Fold being pushed right over the length and breadth of the country, but he’ll be able to do sweet fuck all about the millions of angry Ravkans who are going to make his life living hell.”

Alina watched him steadily; now that he paused for breath she still didn’t say anything, and Nikolai took a moment to search her face for any clues as to what she might be thinking. She had gotten good at hiding behind a perfectly neutral expression, he thought – and it made sense, considering he now knew that she had been spying on everyone for the last several months, revealing all their plans piece by piece to the Darkling. Of course she would have to have a measure of discretion about her, a certain aptitude for sneaking around. Nikolai was ashamed to find himself surprised. He had never expected it of Alina; not just because of what he had thought he’d known about her morals, but also because he simply hadn’t thought the nervous village orphan had been capable of it. He had severely underestimated her, he realised. Part of him was, admittedly, slightly impressed.

“What’s he going to do about that, Alina?” Nikolai asked quietly. “You say he has the country’s best interest at heart, that he cares about Grisha. Do you think he’s going to sit down and negotiate with these people, or do you think he’s going to wipe out every Ravkan man, woman, and child who opposes him? As for Grisha, how many has he killed tonight? I know some of my ship’s Squallers are mysteriously absent. What about everyone at the Little Palace, who didn’t run off with him after his little failed coup? I assume he’ll let them just stay there and ignore them? Ask them nicely if they want to join him and leave them alone when they say no thank you?”

“There will be more,” Alina said quietly. Nikolai noticed she was playing with the bracelet on her arm, twisting it around and around. “It’s… unfortunate, but people will come around. He doesn’t like to do it, which is the major difference. He doesn’t like to hurt people. He’ll do anything to help them come around before he resorts to that.”

“Or did he just promise you the third amplifier?” Nikolai asked, surprising himself by the malice in his voice. “Did he promise to let you be his queen? Did he promise you _power_? Is that it, Alina? All this talk about Grisha rights when you haven’t even known you yourself were Grisha for a year yet. Is this about Grisha rights and the good of Ravka, or is it about a forgotten village girl desperate for approval and power, finally finding a monster who will give it to her?”

Alina looked at him like he had slapped her, all control over her expressions momentarily forgotten as she stared at him. Nikolai felt the briefest flicker of guilt, but it quickly died when he thought of his dead mother, lying only a few feet behind him; of all the dead no doubt littering the Hall. It shrivelled altogether when he thought about how many more would soon be dead over this.

“Oh, Alina,” he said, sighing. “You stupid, _stupid_ girl.”

“Funny,” said an unmistakeable voice behind him. “I think Baghra said much the same thing. How strange that both of you now find yourselves in the exact same position.”

“What?” Nikolai asked, rounding on the Darkling. “Right and well aware of it?”

“Apparently always right, constantly ahead of the game,” the Darkling said, amused. “And yet you both seem to be utterly powerless and helpless to do anything about the situation that you apparently see oh-so clearly. A shame. I’m sure the two of you have wonderful ideas.”

“I’ve never known Baghra to be an overly sociable woman,” Nikolai said, “but I do think she’d probably jump at the opportunity if I suggested to her that she join me to kick your ass all the way to the gilded streets of Ketterdam.”

“She probably would,” the Darkling agreed, completely sincerely. “Unfortunately that’s rather not an option. Tell me, are you going to come reasonably or are you going to make things difficult?”

“I don’t see why you don’t just kill me here,” Nikolai said. “Make it a full set.”

“Who said I was going to kill you?” the Darkling asked, rolling his eyes. “I thought you said he was sharp, Alina.”

“He’s had a few shocks,” Alina said.

“I suppose this must be quite a turn of events when one is as used to getting away with everything as he is.”

“Got away with it well enough when I had you thinking I was a convenient pirate smuggler,” Nikolai said, thoroughly enjoying the sharp look the Darkling gave him.

“I suppose you ought to enjoy the victory,” he said. “It’ll be the last one you have. No, I’m not planning on killing you. Not yet, anyway. You outlined a lot that you said Alina overlooked, did you not?”

“I might have raised a few points of concern,” Nikolai said.

“I believe you then called her stupid,” the Darkling said, raising an eyebrow. “You give her too little credit, princeling.”

It was strange to hear the word now; to remember how the Darkling had called him that when he had been a child, though with a lot more apparent affection than in the way he almost sneered the name now. Difficult to believe that Nikolai had once almost looked up to the Darkling; that the Darkling had once spent no small amount of time comforting the child Nikolai about the fact that he wasn’t Grisha. How long had be been plotting to overthrow Nikolai’s family? How often had he looked at the young prince and thought about the fact it would be necessary to kill him one day? His power of duplicity astounded Nikolai, and he was a man who lived as two completely separate people.

“I’ve thought about it,” Nikolai eventually said, “and I’m still failing to see how you’re going to get yourselves out of that one.”

“Then you are a little denser than I feared,” the Darkling said. “Use your brain, Nikolai. It’s gotten you into plenty of trouble before; I’m sure it can assist you now.”

Nikolai forced himself to swallow his pride and actually consider the words. He had been hoping the Darkling planned to just torment him a little and then get the inevitable over with, but it seemed not to be the case. The Darkling was not planning on killing him, and he knew of all Nikolai’s own plans for the throne – Alina would have been sure to tell him all about those. Ravka was in one hell of a mess to begin with, and this would only escalate tensions. Fjerda and Shu Han were not a concern at the present time, because they were sure to play nice for the foreseeable future considering the leverage the Darkling had on them. As soon as the news that he was in power spread, Ravka’s neighbours would no doubt quickly find their manners for the first time in several centuries. That left the problem of Ravka itself to deal with – Ravka, filled with distrust and anti-Grisha ideas, loathe to see a Grisha on the throne and at least on some level appalled by the death of the Royal Family, if only on principle. No, hold that thought – they _would_ be angry, if Nikolai was killed as well. He was the country’s beloved prince, after all; the only one that people cared to see, the only one the people felt they could talk to.

Nikolai’s mind kicked into overdrive, quickly arranging all the pieces and coming to the inevitable conclusion much quicker than he wanted. He wished he had more time to process it all, more time to think of a way out of it, but he had no choice. The reality of it was on his face the moment it arrived.

“No,” he said, firmly and bluntly.

“I don’t see you with any other choices,” the Darkling said pleasantly.

“I refuse. I’ll be such a pain in your ass you’ll have no choice but to kill me, and then see how far your plan gets you.”

“I still don’t see any other choice.”

“I will _not_ be your fucking puppet king!” Nikolai said loudly. “What, you think you can just prop me up on the throne and have me do whatever you want? You think I can _smooth this over_ for you?”

“It’s one of the rare places you would do a better job than me,” the Darkling said. “The people will come around to the idea if _you_ tell them why it was necessary.”

“I will not sit there and tell my people why it’s necessary to follow a genocidal maniac,” Nikolai spat.

“I’m sure you would wish to defend yourself.”

“I don’t follow.”

“ _You_ are the genocidal maniac, Nikolai,” the Darkling said simply. “ _You_ planned a coup, _you_ wanted the throne, _you_ were sick of your family’s rule. You found kindred spirits in Alina and myself; yes, we did the dirty work, but we were acting on your orders. It was your idea to manipulate the Fold, your idea to threaten Shu Han and Fjerda, your idea to stage an escape and cast me as the villain so we could rally support for Ravka’s latest Saint. Between the two of you, you could get Ravka to believe anything.” He smiled. “You’re quite the mastermind.”

“No,” Nikolai said again, his voice practically a growl. “I’d rather die.”

“Not an option,” the Darkling said simply.

“I won’t do it.”

“I would hate to have to exert pressure.”

Nikolai laughed. “What can you do? You’ve killed my family. No doubt you’ve killed all my allies. I don’t fear death, and if you maim me I’ll be useless to you. So what can you do?”

“I remember,” the Darkling said, his voice the lazy pace of someone with absolutely nothing to fear from such a stubborn statement, “when you were younger, you had a very close friend. Dominic, I believe his name was. The two of you were inseparable – that is, until your dear brother ruined it for you. I remember how close the two of you were, though. Such a shame, what ended up happening to him.”

“If you’re trying to invoke his memory to try and get me to see your point of view, you are going in the complete opposite direction,” Nikolai said lowly.

“Oh, of course not. That would never work,” the Darkling said dismissively. “What _would_ work would be if I told you that I had every single remaining member of his family within my reach, and that if you refuse to cooperate, I will start killing them. One by one. My creatures can be very inventive.” He paused, looking at him with eyes that were suddenly empty of anything but coldness; devoid of anything that Nikolai recognised as _human_. “I’ll make you watch.”

The ground seemed to fall out from under Nikolai. He felt his jaw drop and quickly closed his mouth again; there was the strange sense that he was drifting, first to one side with disbelief and then snapped back by anger. It rose up in him to such a degree that he wondered if he was going to throw himself at the Darkling and do as much damage as he could in the three seconds it would take him to summon the creatures and have him dragged off; as soon as the anger had come it had drained away, leaving nothing but empty, hollow helplessness.

“That was a beautiful range of expressions,” the Darkling said. “I’ll ask you again. Are you going to come reasonably, or are you going to make this difficult?”

Nikolai went with them reasonably. For the first time in his life, he had completely failed to see any other option.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a huge ongoing evil!Alina project I have in the works. The rest will be posted as parts of a series and not necessarily in chronological order, however this is pretty much all the solid context you need. Everything else is pretty self-explanatory, really.


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